


It's like Poetry.

by Blakpaw



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: I should be sleeping but instead I made two poems., Not exactly accurate rhyming/rythm, Other, Poetry, Refrences to Ace Chemicals, Refrences to Bruce's parents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-18
Updated: 2018-01-18
Packaged: 2019-03-06 10:03:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13408908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blakpaw/pseuds/Blakpaw
Summary: Just two short poems I wrote for Batman and Joker.





	1. A Clowns Telling of a Story

For the Joker,  
The white skinned choker,  
The unfair broker,  
There is no such thing as a frown,  
Unless it’s upside down,  
Not one anywhere in his crown.  
Even when he’s sad he grins from ear to ear,  
Even when mad it stretches from there to here  
Even when glad it’s stretches far to near,  
Laughter is always on his lips,  
A happy sway in his hips,  
A mouth full of gleeful quips.  
There is no such thing as sadness,  
In his never ending madness,  
No mask to his cruel gladness,  
Even as he shoots a man dead,  
Not a frown curves inside his head,  
Not a glimpse to a thread of dread.  
But for the bat he has a special grin,  
Not one induced by the feeling of kin,  
But rather by his dreaded list of personal sin,  
And for every fists he takes,  
Every ruined life he makes,  
He feels he’s made not mistakes.  
His joy comes in the form of hurt,  
Forces from his mouth a laugh to blurt,  
And his words spoken curt.  
To his Bat he does proclame,  
“It’s not about the strong or lame,  
Rather it’s about curing you of your misplaced shame,  
Tell it ture you are insane,  
Your mind you do strain,  
For answer found in vain.  
You find yourself mad as me,  
Tell yourself it cannot be,  
Then you musn't be able to see,  
You’re own reality,  
You’re mind just another causality,  
To a criminal mentality.”  
In the night he will cackle,  
His words are not a mackle,  
His sanity finds itself chained in shackle.


	2. A Bat's Memory

The Bat,  
On the ledge he sat,  
His mind on a distant vat,  
Somewhere in the past,  
Not as far as when bullets flew fast,  
But somewhere after he set heart’s cast.  
He thinks of a failure to save a life,  
Puts his mind through straind strife,  
It’s digs in like a knife,  
He watches that body tumble,  
Only to return in maddened mumble,   
In a state were sanity did crumble.  
He thinks of a man unknown,  
The loss he can’t seem to disown,  
A life that had been madness thrown,  
He sees it as his own mistake,  
A part of his life he can’t remake,  
A bit of history he’d like to retake.  
He thinks now his future set,  
He isn’t sure he’s content with that yet,  
But he hasn’t time to fret,  
For the present is now,  
And now he scouts on building prow,  
With a stern gaze and watchful brow.  
He promises to avenge lost hearts,  
Prevent a city from losing more parts,  
So in the shadow he now darts,  
With fists flying,  
For mercy damned souls crying,  
He stops the fate of others dying.  
Yet one man he can’t dismiss,  
One who is full of remiss,  
Who’s words set his mind amiss,  
A clown of death and pain,  
With little and not to gain,  
The weary heart of Bat he’s does strain.  
He refuses to lose sight,  
To not be blinded in the night,  
For he know he’s in the good fight,  
But words burry deep in mind,  
A doubt of dangerous kind,  
He knows he can’t go righteous blind.


End file.
